


Blank Space

by Hikari42



Series: Forces [4]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Selective Amnesia, big ole shrugging emoji, things are wrong and stuff, this is technically AU i guess, this was written before the game came out so y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikari42/pseuds/Hikari42
Summary: He's the same, after all this time, and that's the thing that bothers Gadget the most. (Infinite's memory after the Ruby is removed is spotty, and he doesn't remember the war. At all.)





	Blank Space

**Author's Note:**

> Shout to Sonic Team for absolutely trashing Infinite's character. This is AU now, yay. (Also, I wrote this before the game came out, so y'know. It's not accurate to anything except my dreams.)

Gadget is sitting up in bed, reading through a series of texts in the Sonic/Tails/Amy group message (sans Knuckles because he’s... not in a service zone) with Infinite asleep next to him. It’s strange to be here, back in the apartment, pretending things are normal. Infinite has a bun like he used to, arm stretched above his head, lightly snoring. His chest is Ruby-free but he’s still sleeping like it’s there, like he has to accommodate its hard, pressing edges—arms out of the way, on his back, breathing slowly so as to not upset it.

Of course, he doesn’t remember it, but his body holds the memory somewhere.

Sonic asks, _how is he_ , because Sonic is kind and attentive, notices things others don’t. Gadget squints at the phone because putting on his glasses would be committing to a day he’s not ready to face yet, and the letters appear before him, still fuzzy but there. He wants to say, _fine_ , because that’s the easy answer and he is fine, but he’s also not at the same time. Plus, that’d be cheating. Gadget knows that Sonic, Tails, and Amy want real information.

_He still doesn’t remember_ , he taps out instead, forcing his fingers to find the familiar smoothness of the screen, even after all this time. New phone, same feeling.

Infinite rolls suddenly, throws his arm over Gadget’s middle, makes a tiny snuffling sound, and it’s all so familiar that it almost makes Gadget cry. He’s surprised by it, but he’s also not. His phone falls out of his hand and his other hand falls with it, to grasp Infinite’s arm.

His fingers clutch hard to scarred, thin limb, and it’s like old times. Except it’s not. It can’t be.

+

Infinite’s memory of the war, of the Ruby, doesn’t exist. He showed up at the apartment about a week after it was over, exhausted, confused, and collapsed into Gadget’s arms, sobbing his eyes out. He babbled as Gadget reeled, something about waking up in the woods somewhere, confused, lost, had to find his way home. Luckily, it wasn’t far, just outside the city, and he woke up in a crater, which he didn’t understand; was he abducted by aliens or something?

Gadget could’ve laughed, but he held it in. Yes, you were pretty much were abducted by aliens, he wanted to say, but instead, strangely, he started crying too.

That night was confusing. Gadget took Infinite to the hospital, where the doctor determined that he was dehydrated but not malnourished, hooked him up to an IV, and left them alone. Infinite asked small, probing questions, looking tiny, so small, in the bed, trying to get a grasp on everything. Gadget didn’t know how to answer, so he just made small noises in neither confirmation or denial. It felt a bit like he couldn’t touch the ground, like he was hovering just a few feet above his body, looking down at himself and Infinite.

Infinite doesn’t remember anything from that first day, right before the war. He doesn’t remember Gadget doing well on his final, the Ruby’s slash through the sky, or his decision to go find it. He doesn’t remember the war, the months and months where he reigned terror on the whole planet in Eggman’s name, where he _killed_ — It’s better not to think about that part.

(Was it really him, doing the killing, if the Ruby was in control? Where does the body end and the person begin?)

He treats Gadget like he did before. Tender looks, soft touches, lingering hands, hands on hips. It all feels pastel after the darkness of the war, a thin film that isn’t real with its soft pinks and blues—like valentines and their safety, their canned sayings, their rounded, heart-shaped edges.

+

Gadget makes breakfast at the stove, poking at pancake batter, and Infinite is at the table, sorting through the newspaper. It’s been hard, trying to keep him away from the more dangerous periodicals, the ones that still declare him Public Enemy No. 1, because he loves his news. It calms him, he claims, especially in the morning, but Gadget knows that finding out he hurt so many people would do anything but. The local newspaper is safe enough, but this play won’t last much longer. Infinite is already getting antsy at being cooped up in the house—a farce Gadget cooked up, something something doctor said something something stay indoors—so, Gadget has to make some decisions.

Should Infinite know, and how much? The philosophical issue of the week. Hard answer: yes, and he should know all of it, but slowly, so as to not shock him. Gadget’s preferred answer: yes, but only some of it; _he_ (Gadget) still hasn’t really confronted how much he (Infinite) killed (worldwide citizenry), maimed, and burned. If he can’t reconcile it, how can he expect Infinite to? How can he explain it to Infinite with the delicacy this desperately requires?

“Your glasses are different,” Infinite says as he puts down the paper. “What happened to the rimless ones?”

That’s true enough. Pre-resistance he had different frames, but the battles had required a few sacrifices, starting with his fashionable glasses. He traded them for thick, sturdy ones, ones that clutched close to his head, that they could attach a strap to, pull it tight around his head and ears. Now, after the war, he can’t put the old ones on, because they remind him too much of before.

“I wanted a change,” he answers, instead of all of that. “Don’t you like them?”

Infinite hums and his ears drop in thought. “Yeah, they’re kind of grunge, especially with those new gloves you’re so fond of.”

Gadget looks down at his bare hands, grips the spatula a little tighter, and decides not to answer. Instead, he flips the pancakes and lets the sizzle sit between them.

Infinite sighs and rubs his eyes. “I know there was a war.”

Gadget drops the spatula. It smacks into the pan, clatters to the floor, and he kicks it as he turns. Infinite isn’t looking at him, just above and to the right of him. “How?” Gadget demands.

“I’m not stupid,” Infinite shoots back.

Gadget crosses his arms, sets him with the hardest look he can manage.

“The TV might not work,” Infinite says, indignantly, “but the radio does.”

Of course— Of _course_ it was the radio. Infinite loves that thing, and Gadget hasn’t had the heart to hide it. A grave mistake.

“Not to mention,” Infinite continues, “the city is quiet, and everyone is nice. That only happens after something big. It’s not hard to put together.”

Gadget doesn’t know what to say, _can’t_ say what he needs to say, so he mechanically bends down, picks up the spatula, throws it in the sink, and pulls the pan off the stove. The pancakes aren’t done.

+

That night, they sleep in the same bed, back to back. It was dark when Gadget returned, but he could hear and sense Infinite waiting up for him in bed. The sheets were pooled around his middle, his hair was up, and he was watching, eyes partially glowing in the dark. He didn’t say anything as Gadget climbed under the covers, but he didn’t have to—it was all there, between them, festering and weeping like an open wound.

Gadget wandered off into the city after breakfast. Mainly because he was hungry (they didn’t actually eat at breakfast, just kind of pushed cereal around their bowls and avoided looking at each other), but also because he had to get out. He felt bad leaving Infinite in there alone, knowing that he wouldn’t leave no matter how much he wanted to. He still loved Gadget that much, trusted him that much, that even when they were arguing, he still didn’t want to upset him.

He’s the same, after all this time, and that’s the thing that bothers Gadget the most. He can’t get away from it, how Infinite was pre-Ruby, all softness in the privacy of their apartment, long stares and hard sighs. Gadget, in comparison, is completely different—hardened by war and by loss, by fighting with the person closest to him. And not typical, domestic fighting, not arguing. They battled to the _death_ , on opposite sides of a war, fought at the tipping points. He couldn’t get it out of his head, saw Infinite in his dreams, saw him launching projectiles and teleporting around, kicking everyone like soccer balls. People _died_ — He almost _killed_ Gadget. He can’t just forget that.

He stayed out all day, trying to put all of this into boxes, pack it all up so he could deal with it later. For now, he needed to go back, to the time before, try to understand how the Infinite-of-before would be feeling in this situation. He’s still operating on the Infinite-of-now, the Infinite that Gadget sorta wants to suffer a little, just because of how much he hurt everyone. But, the Infinite-of-before is innocent to all that. He was just trying to do his job before all this started, trying to set his life on track, trying to make sense of the world in his own little way. Gadget can’t fault him for everything that happened in between, not really.

But, eventually, the two must meet. Before and now. It’s just a question of when and how. Gadget has to do it soon.

Or else, Infinite will find out from somewhere else, someone meaner, someone who can only see the worldwide tragedy in its grandness, someone who wants to pin it all on one or two people. Gadget alone can see the tiny tragedy unfolding in his living room, where innocence meets terror, when the past must reconcile the present, and he knows there’s more nuance than just whodunit. Infinite is a casualty in this too, in his own way.

So, he climbs into bed, petrified of the conversation, but he’ll have it if Infinite wants it. They’re both adults; they trust each other endlessly and know how to talk to one another. They can do this if they want.

It’s quiet, barely the whisper of their breaths. The dresser is casting a strange shadow on the wall that Gadget’s never seen before, and he squints at the wall, trying to pinpoint what it is. The same bottles are there, lined up in the same order because Infinite is particular, the same picture frames, the same knick-knacks.

Then, he sees it. The mask. Hard points, lightning bolt eyes, large ears. Gadget sits up, shaking, wants to gag but swallows it down, and he kicks his legs out. He has to get out of here— He can’t— He can’t be here with that _thing_ —

Infinite’s hand snakes around Gadget’s wrist, pulls his whole arm taunt as Gadget tries to pull away. Infinite’s still stronger than him, just barely, but he doesn’t jerk him, pull him, just holds him in place. His hand is hot, brand hot, his fingers tight, and if the color white had a feeling it would be this: those fingers, clutching desperate, searing like plasma.

Gadget turns his head, just there, and can just make out Infinite’s face in the low light. He’s got tears in his eyes and he makes full eye contact, doesn’t hesitate, just lets his eyes draw a parallel line with his arm, right up to Gadget’s face.

“Let go,” Gadget says hollowly, and he can feel the mask staring at him. “Infinite, let me go.”

“I need you,” Infinite whispers. “Gadge... I don’t know...” He looks toward the dresser. “I don’t...”

Gadget pulls and Infinite lets him go. With quick, sure steps, Gadget scoops up the mask without cognizant thought, opens the window, and flings it out. They hear it sail in hyper-detail, hear it land on the street below, where it will be run over by a passing car, then another, then another, eventually become so mangled that no one will recognize it come morning.

+

Gadget finds himself back in bed with his arms wrapped around Infinite’s back. Infinite is crying softly into Gadget’s chest, and Gadget wants nothing more than to pull Infinite into his ribcage to keep him safe from this hard truth, these evil deeds and their reporter-neutral statistics: _this_ many dead, _this_ much property damage, _this_ many injured, _this_ many children parent-less, _this_ many buildings burned, _this_ many lives ruined, _this_ many people who can’t hold those they love like Gadget is holding Infinite, _this_ , _this, this_...

“I don’t remember,” Infinite whispers so lowly it’s like he’s mouthing it into Gadget’s skin. “I don’t remember any of it. How do you know— What if it wasn’t me? What if they just _used me_ somehow?”

Gadget doesn’t want to say these horrible things to him, but he also doesn’t want to lie to him. Lying would be doing them both a disservice, running from the problems, ignoring everyone who still suffers. “You recognized me.”

Infinite pulls away from Gadget, sits up so he can see him. The fur on his face is stained from his tears, tacky with salt and still slightly wet. “ _What_?” he whispers.

“In one of the battles...” Gadget struggles for words for a second, because suddenly he’s back there. Barrage from above, crawling, speedy robots on the ground, Infinite floating before them, juggling two of his cubes like Baoding balls. Gadget’s battalion, nearly decimated except for Gadget and one other, bleeding out under Gadget’s hands as he tried to CPR breath back into his lungs. Infinite, floating toward them, indifferent toward the dying soldier, eyeing Gadget like he was a familiar landmark, with a detachment that terrified him.

_You’re still beautiful_ , Infinite said as he grabbed Gadget’s chin between his hard, strong, thin fingers. _A waste on the resistance. When this is over, I’ll come for you_.

He can still feel those fingers on his face. They were like ice, left his face burning from frostbite, and he has to fight to keep himself from flinching.

“You saw me in one of the battles and recognized me. Said my name,” Gadget mutters (lies). It’s better to just keep it simple. Infinite doesn’t need to know this; no one else was there. The soldier died under Gadget’s worried hands after Infinite teleported away, suffocated on the blood filling his lungs. When Gadget got back to headquarters, numb, everyone thought he was shocked by the death, and he was, but there was also Infinite and his darkness. This was his _friend_... His— His. Infinite used to be his, and now he wasn’t anything Gadget recognized.

“I don’t remember,” Infinite whispers again. “You have to believe me.” He’s pleading, as if Gadget’s belief really matters. Even if he doesn’t believe him (and he does), that won’t change what he did.

“I believe you.”

“It wasn’t me. They were using my body. I’m— I’m terrified of guns.”

Gadget doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore. He nods, because that’s a good way to let someone know you’re listening if you don’t want to say anything, and pulls Infinite back into his chest. Even with all of this, it feels good to hold him again.

+

In Gadget’s defense, it was self-defense.

Dreams are fickle things, but Gadget usually doesn’t let them get to him. This time though, with the stress of rebuilding, the stress of Infinite’s memories (or lack of memories), the stress leftover from the war... just, the stress. With all that stress, this one gets under his skin, lives within him even as he opens his eyes, realizes he’s thrashing but can’t move, something is holding him down, _someone_ —

Mismatched eyes, glowing in the dark, a sharp muzzle, leaning over him with what looks like a smirk, a poisoned grin.

“ _Get off_!” Gadget yells and throws his head forward. It’s a move he learned from Knuckles months ago and he’s never had to use it, mainly because all of his enemies were robots that he destroyed from a distance with a wispon, but he has the muscle memory from practice. He headbutts his attacker hard, smashes the hardest part of his head into the guy’s nose, is satisfied by a crunch.

“Ow, Gadget, what the _hell_!”

Gadget comes back to himself then, recognizes his bedroom, the familiar lumps of his bed, and Infinite, angled away from him, cradling his face, attempting to mask his bleeding nose.

“Oh, oh Chaos,” Gadget springs up, climbs onto his knees so he can reach for Infinite. He takes Infinite’s head between his palms, moves him so he can see his nose in the low light. It’s twisted out of shape, clearly broken, and he flounders for a second, unsure of what to do. Quietly, gently, he reaches up and brushes his finger over the crushed cartilage.

“ _Shit!_ Gadget don’t touch it!”                                                                           

“Sorry, sorry!” Gadget recoils. “I panicked.”

Infinite is avoiding his gaze and he winces away any time Gadget tries to reach for him again. “Chaos, Gadge, what did the war _do_ to you? You just headbutted me and broke my nose! I was trying to wake you up!”

“I’m sorry,” Gadget whispers, looking down at his own hands. “You reminded me... You reminded me of you... Hovering over me and holding me down.”

Infinite winces, but for a different reason this time. “I didn’t— I didn’t do that to you, _did I_? During the war...? I-I didn’t hold you down and— _Oh Chaos._ ” He hides his face in his hands, being very careful of his still bleeding nose, and Gadget hears his breath hiccup some, as if he’s going to start crying again.

“No!” Gadget yells, almost impulsively. For a second, he’s back there, back in the war, with Infinite floating above him, grabbing his chin, grinning that sharktoothed grin, and he wants to get away from it, these horrible memories that are creating these horrible dreams, these horrible flashbacks. He just wants to go back to _before_ , when he could trust Infinite without flinching or second guessing, but that’s about as possible as the war being a dream. There will be no going back.

This is their new normal: Gadget with bad dreams, self-defensive attacks, Infinite with broken noses, confused, betrayed expressions, this distance between them that Gadget is clawing at, trying to close. Infinite is exhausted and confused, trying to put together the scattered pieces of the last six months, but he can’t when Gadget is still dealing with it himself.

“No, you didn’t,” Gadget mumbles. He can give Infinite this: reassurance that he was bad, but not _that_ bad. “You didn’t do anything like that. We just... fought.”

Infinite visibly deflates, nose still freely bleeding, and Gadget feels filthy, as if he’ll never be able to get rid of this horrible feeling—that he’s a liar, even though he’s telling the truth.

+

Emergency room again, Infinite’s nose splinted, held together with tape and gauze, a curtain surrounding the bed, Gadget in the visitor’s seat. Silence between them.

Infinite’s nose is numbed; Gadget watched them stick the needle in with blind horror, but he had to watch because of everything that he’d done. He had to stay with him. Still, even after the war, he’s not a fan of needles. He’d been stitched up plenty times, but the needles always got to him. Death robots firing at his face? Piece of cake compared to a needle.

It’s strange, being back here again so soon. People were looking at them, before the curtain was drawn, probably because they knew Eggman’s lackey was a jackal, so every jackal was suspicious. Even the doctor, when he asked why Infinite’s nose was broken, had looked at them with narrow-eyed contempt. Gadget and Infinite had both been quick to say, “Ran into a door,” their agreed upon excuse, and their chorused answer convinced the doctor. He nodded, fixed Infinite up, and told them both to be more careful. He even pulled the curtain as he left, because he could see the eyes too; they weren’t subtle.

“What really happened?” Infinite asks, voice stuffy because of his nose. “During the war?”

Gadget doesn’t want to answer, but he has to. He can feel it, the inevitability, the compelling _urge_ to just get it all out there. Whatever had been holding him back disappeared when his head collided with Infinite’s nose.

So, he tells him. He tells him about how the Ruby took over, how Eggman used its powers to create robots and to destroy everything, capture Sonic, destroy more. How Gadget himself joined the Resistance because there was nothing left, both of the world and of his sense of self, time, and space. It was the only thing he could do, because anger was all he had left—anger and fear.

He tells him how he found Infinite again, how they came face-to-face there, on the battlefield, and how everything had narrowed to just the two of them for a second. How everyone else died around Gadget and he was the only one and Infinite knew it.

How Infinite let him live, how he recognized Gadget, how something cracked then. When he fought Sonic later, and lost, it was the beginning of the end. How things fast-tracked after that, how Infinite went down and disappeared. How Gadget mourned him silently, inconspicuously, even then.

(What he doesn’t tell him: how Infinite grabbed his chin, said those horrible things to him. How Gadget half-wished, in that moment, that Infinite _had_ killed him, because at least then he wouldn’t have to see it anymore—wouldn’t have to see Infinite, so corrupt and unrecognizable.)

+

The next afternoon they’re at home. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. Infinite is sitting by the radio, large ear piqued to listen to the news. Gadget is scrubbing the floors because cleaning helps him forcefully forget things. They haven’t talked much since the hospital. Infinite took it all in with downcast eyes and ears, fiddling with the threads of the hospital blanket. They slept together in bed, back to back, but didn’t say anything, didn’t touch beyond their spines, slotting together like puzzle pieces.

Now though, Infinite mumbles, “I’m sorry,” to Gadget’s bent back. Gadget freezes, looks up, drops the mop.

“For what?”

“For not remembering.”

Gadget’s brow furrows, and Infinite thinks he’s cute, thinks that if things were different, he would stand, scoop Gadget up and swing him around because he can. But, things aren’t different, and he’s glued to the seat, trapped by his own fear and the giant hole in his memory.

“That’s not your fault,” Gadget answers, mystified.

Infinite shrugs, looks up into Gadget’s face, ignores the flinch when Gadget makes eye contact (and how long until that ends? until Gadget learns to trust him again?), and mutters, “Maybe not, but if I could remember, then I could apologize for what I did.”

Gadget’s brow clears up, his eyebrows rise, and he makes a small _ah_ sound. With barely a whisper of his bare feet on the tile, he ghosts toward Infinite. Gently, he places his hands on Infinite’s shoulders and bends so that they’re on the same level. “It wasn’t really you,” Gadget says. “We’ve talked about this. It wasn’t really you.”

Infinite can’t say what he means, not really. He wants to say _I’m sorry for not being in control. I’m sorry for giving in. I’m sorry for not being strong enough. I’m sorry for not loving you enough, you and this world that you live in. I’m sorry for letting something so evil poison me._ But he can’t; he doesn’t have the words. So, he just says, “I’m sorry.”

Gadget sighs, picks Infinite’s chin up with a gentle hand, and holds him there, fingers around his jaw. “Listen to me, there’s nothing to forgive. It wasn’t you. I’ll have some nightmares and sometimes, from the wrong angle, I won’t recognize you, but that’s _not_ _your fault_. Don’t beat yourself up over something you can’t help.”

Infinite wants to argue, but Gadget looks so serious, so earnest, that he can’t. His breath catches as he watches Gadget watch him, trying to find a crack in Infinite’s face, and all Infinite can do is nod. He wants nothing more than to give Gadget exactly what he wants, after everything he’s done to him.

“Good.” Gadget lets go and rises. He turns on his heel and goes back to the mopping, cleaning up after their messes like always.


End file.
